Again We Meet
by Cybra
Summary: (Gift fic for bizarro based on Chapter 4 of "threshold") After landing on Earth, Numbuh 1 has an encounter with Chad.


Again We Meet

By Cybra

**A/N:** _Lame_ title for this fic. -.-;;; Based on chapter four of bizarro's "threshold." Dialogue is from that chapter. Also taking a few liberties. La la la…

**Dedication:** To bizarro. Enjoy this humble offering that I give to thee and thy mighty three fics. ;)

**Disclaimer:** _Codename: Kids Next Door_ belongs to Tom Warburton. The story "threshold" belongs to bizarro. I am merely mooching for a while.

My landing back on the planet Earth was less than impressive. I never was that great with the space pods. The Moon Base's tractor beams made landing there so much simpler, but Earth landings always were fights with gravity, so I always shot for a landing that I could walk away from.

That day was one of my better landings though I was sure Numbuh 2 would be plotting murder as revenge for the repairs he would have to do. Black smoke drifted away from the pod and into the cockpit. The sound of decompression never sounded so good.

After such a jarring landing, and while my body tried to get re-used to Earth's gravity, I swayed like a kid who's had one too many root beers. Each step was a little steadier than the last as I walked.

"Next time I'll remember to bring Numbuh Two to pilot this piece of junk—"

I cut my own muttering off when I glanced up and saw, to my shock, Numbuh 274. Or rather, "Chad" as he was now known. I always had to remind myself that he was no longer an operative.

What was he doing here? He had always walked by the Tree House without giving it another glance. Civilians tend not to take much note of our home.

"Chad. What are you do—"

I stopped myself again as I took note of his current state. There were scabbed-over wounds and blister burns all over him.

"Are you okay?" I asked him, deeply concerned.

Though we had officially parted on less than amiable terms, the fact remained that he had been my friend. Seeing him in such a state pained me, for it reminded me of the days when he had been in Father's employ. And every day we had fought Chad had felt like one of Numbuh 4's punches in the stomach. Fighting a friend—even if you no longer were friends—is not easy.

He flinched for a second before he began to walk towards me. I finally noticed the sword in his hand as he unsheathed it with trembling hands.

For a moment, I was confused. What did he think he was doing? But as he continued to approach me with the sword, my mind grasped the situation:

Chad _knew_ who _exactly_ I was and, if I didn't do something fast, would soon have my head.

But why? Why attack me now? And why did he even _remember?_ The decommissioning procedure had seemed to stick with him quite well. Yet here he was.

The burns clicked in my mind. My teammates and I had suffered such burns before from one man: Father. He must've found a way to undo the procedure!

I hunched down, fully prepared to leap away, as Chad drew closer. I leaped just as he swung his sword, but it seemed that he hadn't been aiming for anything vital this time. Instead, his sword struck my left jet boot, cutting through the leather to hit the circuitry and my foot.

The pain of steel slicing into flesh caused me to lose my concentration, and I hit the ground rolling. I somersaulted twice in order as I tried to regain my bearings. I looked down at the useless jet boot. Sparks from damaged circuitry streamed forth from the damaged boot. A small trickle of blood from my wounded foot joined the sparks. There went my emergency escape plan.

"I'm sor—" Chad started to say before stopping himself.

But I had heard a truly regretful note in his voice. So he didn't want to do this. He wasn't a willing participant in whatever sick scheme Father had up his fiery sleeve. But why was he? Why was he attacking me? Why didn't he say "no" to Father?

I looked up and met his eyes, trying to keep composed despite the fact that very real terror had started to settle in. "Chad, why are you doing this?"

He didn't answer me. Instead, it seemed like he was trying to compose himself to do what he came to do.

I could've attacked him while he was still trying to draw up the energy to kill me. Even though I was injured, it didn't seem too bad for the moment. I could wrap it up later.

But right now, I needed to know _why._

"You don't have to do this. We were friends, don't you remember, Numbuh 274?"

His old codename slipped off of my tongue without me realizing it at first. It was his flinch that told me what I had said, for I had honestly intended to say "Chad." But—I suppose—old habits really do die hard. And this habit would end up with me dying.

I can't remember who acted first: whether it was me when I jumped backwards in a handspring or Chad when he swiped at me with his sword. My foot burned as I launched myself into the air and flipped backwards. Upon landing, pure agony shot up from my foot. Perhaps my injury was worse than I had originally thought.

I faltered for a brief second due to the pain. Chad made up for that time by lunging at me and pinning me to the side of the house. I felt steel against my throat.

How strange. My fear had seemed to have suddenly fled from me. I was going to die—having a sword against my throat was a big hint—but it seemed as if I had suddenly stopped caring. In some way, I had always felt that the Kids Next Door would be my undoing. After all, the adults we fight aren't exactly _sane_ and, if they ever got it into their heads, a regular handgun would easily beat a well-trained operative with a SPLANKER.

Chad breathed raggedly. His hands sweated, and I saw his grip on the sword loosen just a little.

Would he actually go through with killing me? He had me right where he wanted me. But my old friend was hesitating as if trying to gain up the nerve to slit my throat.

I didn't fight him. There was no way I could win this fight.

"I—I'm sorry, but I have to."

_'I guess I can forgive you, Numbuh 274. But why are you doing this?'_

I tried to think of my friends and teammates. I wanted their smiling faces to be my last thought.

But—for the moment—the only images I could conjure were of better days between Numbuh 274 and I. Time spent together on the Moon Base when he was between missions and I was there for this or that. There were conversations over the communications network concerning work or whatever we felt like talking about at the moment. My mind even recalled top-secret missions on which we had worked together without my teammates' knowledge. The person who held me suddenly seemed like a mix of my friend Numbuh 274 and the enemy Chad.

A look of realization crossed Chad's face. He completely relaxed and removed the blade from my throat. He released me and stepped backwards.

I fell to my knees, feeling suddenly very weak. It took me a moment to realize that I had subconsciously gripped my throat with one hand.

Never before had I looked Death so squarely in the eye. And this time, Death blinked.

But why had he spared me? Did the same visions go through _his_ head? Or was there something else?

The sound of engines caught my attention, yanking me back to reality. I turned my head and saw the space pod starting to launch. Immediately, I stood and started to race towards the pod, my left foot burning with each step. I heard Chad following behind me.

_'Just like the good old days,'_ I thought.

The pod was already in the air by the time either one of us was close enough to do anything. I stopped and stared, Chad stopping beside me and doing the same thing.

The figure in the cockpit was certainly familiar, but it was Chad's agonized cry that identified her and gave me an inkling of _why_ he had tried to kill me.

_"CREE!"_


End file.
